Jonathan Wild, at this time, was on the high-road to the greatness which he subsequently, and not long afterwards, obtained. See paragraph 1. “Is it your maid?” he asked. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. Somehow logic could not explain her. She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope. 5. “It’s the stir of spring,” he said.
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